


on the up and up

by theundiagnosable



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, No Chill Jack is just very important to me okay, as if there wasn't enough 4th of july fic out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: The fireworks start forty minutes late, time enough for Jack and Bitty to pile blankets into the bed of Bittle’s dad’s pickup truck, demolish a maple-crusted apple pie, and copiously overuse Snapchat filters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for ambiance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWGJplyVAM4 and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKmRkS1os7k

The fireworks start forty minutes late, time enough for Jack and Bitty to pile blankets into the bed of Bittle’s dad’s pickup truck, demolish a maple-crusted apple pie, and copiously overuse Snapchat filters.

Bittle laughs every time Jack sticks his tongue out with the dog filter, chirps him when the flash makes him blink. Jack asks if it’s still called a selfie if they’re both in the picture (it is) because he knows it’ll make Bitty laugh again (it does). He still doesn’t get selfies. Bitty doesn’t seem to mind.

By the time they’re settled against the side of the truck, the show’s in full swing and Bitty’s rambling about learning to drive in this same field. Jack’s mostly listening, content and full-up in a way that still feels like a novelty. He’s not thinking about it, really, not thinking about much of anything. Just watching the fireworks, bursts of colour that linger for a few seconds before dissolving into blackness. Then he realizes Bittle’s not talking anymore.

“What?”

Bitty blinks, startled. “What what?”

“You’re staring at me,” Jack says, “big eyes.”

“Just thinking, I guess. Didn’t mean to distract you from the show.”

“Distract me,” Jack requests, and Bitty obliges, after a moment.

“You aren’t allowed to laugh.”

Jack traces an ‘x’ over his heart, only half teasing. It’s good enough for Bittle, he figures, because now he meets Jack’s eyes and says, “It still doesn’t feel real, sometimes.”

“Me?”

“This,” Bitty says. “You and me, here like we are. _Together_.” He takes Jack’s hand, toying absently with his fingers as if to demonstrate his point.

Jack thinks he could listen to Bitty say that – ‘together’ – for fifty years, and not get sick of it.

Bitty’s still talking, oblivious. “I mean, look at you, like some kind of- of renaissance sculpture, or something, sitting in Coach’s truck with me. It’s ridiculous.”

“You’re so weird,” Jack says, and he’s a hundred percent sure that it comes out sounding as hopelessly besotted as he feels. Which, fine, he probably gave up any chance of playing it cool a long time ago.

“Oh,” Bitty flushes right down to his ears, “hush.”

Jack grins, tugs on their joined hands to pull Bitty closer, just because he can. It’s humid even after sundown, close to uncomfortably warm where Bittle’s skin touches his. Neither moves. There’s no noise, save for the crickets singing over fireworks in the distance, and for a few moments they just sit, quiet, a tangle of limbs. Then Bitty grins, nudging at Jack’s thigh with his knee.

“Now who’s staring?” Bitty looks up at Jack from under his eyelashes, teasing. Jack figures he must be pretty far gone if he’s mooning over Bittle’s _eyelashes_ , but he can’t bring himself to mind.

He says, simply. “I like looking at you.”

“Even though I’m weird?”

“Yes.”

“Flatterer,” Bitty says, and his tone is still light, but there’s something else in the air now. He extracts one of his hands from Jack’s grasp and reaches up, smoothing back the hair from Jack’s forehead. It’s casual, easy, like everything is with Bittle, and yet the affection in the gesture steals Jack’s teasing response before it can pass his lips.

He can’t breathe with it, sometimes, the magnitude of this thing between them.

He locks eyes with Bitty, and for a few moments, looking feels like a conversation.

“What’re you thinking?”

The first time Bitty asked him that, pixilated on Skype, Jack had stumbled over his words. Now, he holds Bittle’s gaze.

“Every time I talk to you, it feels... big.” Jack says, then, thoughtful, taps on Bitty’s chest. “In here.” He pauses, then laughs at himself. _Hockey robot_ , he thinks. “That sounds stupid.”

“No, not at all, you’re- I get it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, soft enough that Jack’s heart aches.  

“I’m not scared,” says Jack. “And I think I should be, because this matters so much. But I’m not.”  

“No,” says Bitty, “No, me neither.”

And, thing is, Jack’s telling the truth. He can’t remember ever being quite as unafraid as he feels now, pressed next to Bittle in the middle of an empty field. It’s a weird feeling, rusty with lack of use, but good. Really good. So it’s that, maybe, or the cicadas whining in the distance, or Bitty staring at him like he knows exactly what he’s feeling, but whatever it is, without really thinking about it, Jack is speaking.

“Bits, I lo-”

“Stop,” Bitty slips a hand over Jack’s mouth, barely touching him, but Jack stops talking anyways and just watches him. He’s trembling.

The sound of the fireworks seems very far away.

“I- D’you mean it?”

 “Yes.” Jack’s lips brush against Bitty’s fingers when he speaks. They’re both close to a whisper, even though there’s no one else for ages.

“Because if you don’t-”

 “I do.”

“If you don’t,” Bitty continues, talking faster, “it’s alright, I swear, because it’s only been a couple of months and we’ve only seen each other the one time – not that it hasn’t been perfect, ‘cause the last few days have been like something out of a dream – but just ‘cause we’re here you don’t have to feel as though you need to-”

“I love you,” Jack says, and Bitty gasps; a long, shuddering breath, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Say it again,” he says, almost a whisper.

Jack does. “I love you.”

Bitty pulls him in by the collar and kisses him, dozens of little kisses pressed across his nose and cheeks, making Jack _giggle_ , actually giggle, and _crisse_ , he’s so gone for this boy.

He pulls back ever so slightly, just enough to catch Bitty’s eyes; smiling so big it feels like his face is going to split in half. He says it again for good measure: “I’m in love with you, Bits.”

Bitty kisses him again, hard, this time full on the lips. Jack can feel the shape of Bitty’s smile pressed against his own.

“Me too,” Bitty says as he pulls back, breathless, “I love you too; lord, Jack, I’ve _been_ loving you-

“Bitty,” Jack says helplessly, “Eric.”

He presses his forehead to Bitty’s, shuts his eyes. Wants to stay here forever, just like this, NHL be damned. _Does_ stay like this, for a while at least, listening to Bitty’s breaths until he loses count.

One hand playing with the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck, Bitty whispers, “I think the fireworks’ve stopped.”

Jack opens his eyes. “Have they?”

At this, Bitty snorts. It’s loud and ugly and somehow still the best thing Jack’s ever heard. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, you did _not_ just use a line on me.”

“Might’ve,” says Jack. He feels like he could take on the whole world and win. “Is it working?”

“Y’know what?” Bitty says, nudging Jack’s nose with his own, smiling small and just for him. “I think it just might.”


End file.
